Ero Wins the Bet

I stand at the door of Maroney Manor, my heart hammering against my ribs. Even now, I can barely believe I have an entire weekend to do whatever I want with the proud Congresswoman, Margot Maroney. She will be at my mercy, and whatever degrading thing I ask of her, she has already promised to obey.

I raise the lion’s-head knocker, preparing to claim my prize.

Margot’s constituency failed her miserably. Her bill was laughed off the floor in a humiliating defeat with career-shattering consequences. I remember her standing there on the killing floor with her head bowed, breathing heavily before glancing back at me over her shoulder, flushed with shame.

She flinched when I mouthed the words, “See you this weekend.”

Then she drew in a slow breath, collected herself, and nodded.

With the dignity of a defeated queen, she stalked from the chamber without looking back once.

And now, here I am, exactly as promised.

I lift the heavy iron knocker shaped like a lioness and slam it against the oak door. Each echo rings through the estate like another nail being driven into Margot’s coffin.

Before I can strike a third time, the massive door swings open.

Margot answers it herself.

The sight of her takes my breath away.

Gone is the severe power suit and sharp, commanding posture of Congresswoman Maroney. In its place is something softer, more dangerous.

She stands before me in a creamy white satin mini dress that clings to her athletic figure like poured silk. The fabric shimmers faintly beneath the entryway lights, fluttering against her thighs whenever the evening breeze slips through the doorway. Thin spaghetti straps reveal freckled shoulders and elegant collarbones, while the short hemline reveals an intoxicating amount of smooth toned legs.

Her dark blonde hair, usually twisted into a severe bun, has been gathered into a loose ponytail tied with a large white satin bow. Wisps of hair and soft bangs frame her face, making her look years younger, a picture of innocence about to be corrupted.

She smiles sweetly, capturing my heart with her ice blue eyes. I almost want to call the whole thing off. Almost.

"Well, well," she purrs, leaning languidly against the frame. "If it isn't my conquering hero. Come to collect your prize?"

She steps aside with a graceful sweep of her arm, inviting me inside.

Even in defeat, she is still trying to control the moment.

I cannot allow that.

“Margot,” I say calmly, “I’d like to seal your surrender with a pre-spanking blowjob.”

The words hit her like a slap. Her eyes widen instantly, shimmering with humiliation before she can regain control of herself. For a moment, she simply stares at me, stunned silent

I pause deliberately.

“Miss Maroney, would you kneel for me, please?”

Then her composure begins to crack.

A choked gasp escapes her throat. Emotion flickers rapidly across her face—outrage, humiliation, **** arousal, and finally grim resignation.

The fight slowly drains from her posture.

Her shoulders sag.

Without another word, she sinks to her knees before me.